


new rules

by imillumlnati



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mentions of Mental Illness, Mild Sexual Content, Post-breakup, Unresolved Feelings, idk i'm shit at tagging apparently, mostly isak's inner shit, sadsak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-08 02:00:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11636613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imillumlnati/pseuds/imillumlnati
Summary: ONE -- don't pick up the phoneor, a shitty song fic inspired by the queen, dua lipa





	new rules

**Author's Note:**

> first of all, i'm not sure how the formatting will look because i typed this whole thing on my phone
> 
> two, i haven't written fics since the days when justin bieber fanfics were a thing, so i'm SORRY 
> 
> third and most important thing, all mentions of even's bipolar are nowhere a representation of all bipolar people. i am diagnosed myself, and i'm taking my experience off medication as inspiration for even. if i'm offending anyone, keep in mind that this is MY experience. 
> 
> also english ain't my native language and this will be mistake heavy soz!!!

> talking in my sleep at night, making myself crazy --

trembling fingers and sweat dripping from his forehead, the boy was violently shaken out of his restless sleep. it was more of a surprise that he managed to close his eyes for more than an hour at a time, then the fact that a dream was bad enough to have him shaking with tears in his bed, a bright red 3:34 illuminated on the electic clock strategically placed on a tv stand. it took a moment for him to come back to his head, to understand that once more he was awaken on a lumpy couch instead of the orthopedic mattress even had insisted on buying months ago.

silence was the only sound that greeted his shallow breaths, broken apart by the ragged whimpers coming from deep in his throat, acompanied by salty tears streaming from his eyes. 

**i'm not home - i'm okay** , he attempted to reasure himself, slowly lowering himself back onto the duvet eskild had kindly placed into his arms when he showed up in the middle of the night, exactly three days ago. 

**i'm not home, but i'm okay.**

> wrote it out and read it out, hoping it would save me --

the same text over and over again, drafted in his messages, fingers hovering over the send button for the last twenty six minutes ( he wasn't counting, no ). he writes out the words, repeating himself over and over again, until the breath he didn't realise he was holding leaves his lips. oh my love, he begins. it's like that in every message that goes unsent, soft reassuring words that should be directed at him instead of the boy who left his behind. it's fine, i understand - he doesn't. and the tears burn his eyes again, a soft sob leaving his lips as he deletes the words once more, locking his phone afterwards. _he makes me feel like nobody else. but my love, he doesn't love me._

> _ONE_ \-- don't pick up the phone

there's static in his phone, followed by rushed and slurred words. he can barely differenciate the words that are spoken to him and to even himself. ' **_you know he's only calling 'cause he's drunk and alone_** , ' he hears the words from jonas, kind and reassuring, but warning at at the same time. it wasn't the first time this happened - isak finally managing to leave his newly ( well, not exactly newly ) found home, finally finding a distraction in his friends who have been nothing more than helpful and who he can feel are truthfully heartbroken just as much as him ( no one could feel what he feels, he tells himself each day. but at least they pretend to understand ). on the other side of the call, he hears even stutter out his words, promising things he knows he will regret the next morning, the moment he sees the call registry of seven minutes worth of a call to a contact which used to be called mannen i mitt liv. with as much of control as he possibly could muster, isak mutters out a quiet apology and hangs up on the phone. his half full glass of bitter liquid washes down any left over feeling of sorrow and anger, and he's calling out to the bartender for another one. 

> _TWO_ \-- don't let him in

he finally sees the pattern. on day one, he receives a drunken call. three days pass, and even is sending him cryptic messages. it reminds him too much of his mother, the bible verses she repeatedly sent him when she wasn't in the state of mind he wished she was. it's too easy to recognize the signs of mania, ones even is displaying way too clearly with his insistent messages. it's no longer his business, he shouldn't feel responsible for what even is feeling or what he's doing -- or what he's not doing, like taking his medication.

when the messages die down, and that usually takes two to four days, isak is greeting his now ex-lover at the doorstep of the kollektivet. it's always awkward at first, and it looks not much different from the time even showed up during a pre-game with the boys. the odd, lingering glances, the words that are left unspoken as they fall into a quiet, weird conversation on the couch. the kollektivet is usually silent, and if someone happens to be in the apartment in the time when even arrives, the unspoken agreement of them locking themselves in the room until he leaves falls in place. if they're there, linn, or eskild, even noora sometimes, he knows he will receive a lecture afterwards. but it doesn't matter at the time, as long as even is there. a meter of distance between them, it's still more than isak feels he deserves from the older boy. the conversation always shifts, the delusional ramblings of even's about the new lover he found in his bed after a night of drinking with his friends, how he tried a new drug instead of taking his medication ( isak never asks why he stopped taking it anyway, it wasn't his call anymore ) or how their no longer shared apartment is always full of people fill the air. isak only sits, takes it in, until it becomes too much. it's the usual, the excuse to go to the bathroom, the close call to a panic attack, the water splashing on face. it's a procedure that always takes place when it becomes too much to bear. he returns with red rimmed eyes, and knows. he'll have to kick him out again. if even ever notices the heartbreak when isak listens to him, he never says anything. 

months go by like that. after the evening in isak's home, it's usually radio silence for a month -- he's aware that it's after manic state depression that hit him, and that once it passes, the cycle will repeat himself once again. 

> _THREE_ \-- don't be his friend

why he finds himself drinking beer with even once again, he doesn't truly know. there's a party around them, somewhere behind them. the only thing isak can focus on fully is the pale skined boy in front of him, and his voice. somewhere in the distance he hears his voice being called, then a huff following. it must be vilde, drunk off her ass and demanding attention as she'd lost magnus to jonas and mahdi's demands to join them in the bathroom. isak should be there. hell, he maybe even shouldn't be in this party. he has a biology midterms approaching, and he's determined to finish his first year in med school with good grades. instead, he's once more engrosed in the words of even, barely audible over the booming sounds of music.

it's some new pop song, and even is bobbing his head along the rhythym, a little off tune and a little too enthusiastically. it should annoy isak, the rapid movement, but instead he's staring, shamelessly at at his ex boyfriend. 

the conversation flows -- way too easily for isak to comprehend, and for a moment he feels like nothing has changed -- apart from the distance between them on the couch. it's the same as in his home - isak instinctly wants to inch closer to the older man, but even keeps a safe distance between them. he knows, he knows that all isak is craving is some kind of sign, that everything is okay. but it's not. 

he knows where this is going, way too well. 

> you know you're gonna wake up in his bed in the morning --

it's all too clear when he opens his eyes, well, not _literally_. with a pounding in his head, and a blurry vision, isak dreads the moment when he will have to raise his head from the pillow. but even without doing so, he can understand he's fucked. literally, and figuratively. the sheets of the bed he's laying way too familiar, the soft lavander shade of the bed cover barely covering his torso. his head laying on the washed out blue pillow he refused to part with when moving. it hits him like a brick, a way too painful brick that feels worse than the pounding of his hangover. 

_tangled limbs spread on the sheets, sweaty skin sliding easily against one another, the familiar feel of closure and desire spreads over isak's body, leaving lingling sensations runnimg through his veins and making his toes curl. even through his intoxicated mind, he can hear and **feel** the huffs of breath fanning over his lips, his cheeks, leaving wet kisses along his jawline and down his neck. it's an exhilarating feeling, stripping him of any other senses from his body other than feeling even against his skin. weak moans leave his lips with each powerful thrust of even's hips, and the younger boy can't help but clutch his fingers into his back, neck, nails leaving behind marks as he holds on for dear life. he figures he should make it last, hold onto the feeling for as long as possible so there's an imprint left in him reminding jm of their final, last night together, but he can't help, but mewl out a ragged warning of his approaching orgasm, a shameless moan ringing through the apartment as he finds his release. _

> and if you're under him, you ain't getting over him

**Author's Note:**

> don't forget to comment and leave kudos!!!


End file.
